COUNTY LINES; A Mom, Contemplating the Draft

By KATE STONE LOMBARDI

Published: October 10, 2004

MY son's doctor wants to retest him for what was long ago diagnosed as a life-threatening allergy to peanuts. Since the age of 18 months, the child has worn a Medic Alert warning bracelet; he always carries an Epi-Pen, for use in case his throat begins to close up in reaction to an allergen.

There was a time when I was frantic about this, but it seems long ago. Paul is a competent boy who will turn 16 this month. He is scrupulous about reading labels and checking ingredients but not high-strung about the problem, matter-of-factly keeping track of what he needs to avoid.

Last year, when the doctor first suggested controlled retesting, the idea seemed harmless enough -- especially as the outcome could be so beneficial. It would be a relief, for instance, to know that Paul could take a bite out of a muffin without first having to check its ingredients, or that someday, the family could go to a Chinese restaurant together.

But the test doesn't seem harmless anymore. I am thinking about Iraq, the draft and my boy. President Bush has said there will be no draft, and on Oct. 5, the House voted down a bill that would have restored it next spring. None of this is particularly surprising just weeks before the election; I am far from reassured. At the same time we are being told there is no need to draft anyone, we also hear about reservists' being called back repeatedly for service and soldier deployments being extended. We hear that for the first time since 1994, the Army National Guard says it will fall 5,000 soldiers short of its recruiting goal this year. That is in part because fewer active-duty soldiers are switching to part-time service, knowing how often the Guard units are being sent to war zones.

Even more troubling is a recently released study by a Pentagon-appointed panel called the Defense Science Board, which concluded that the American military's ''current and projected force structure will not sustain our current and projected global stabilization commitments.'' Translation: there is a shortage of troops. The Army, concerned about recruiting, just lowered its standards; it can now accept a greater percentage of recruits who lack high school degrees and who scored in the lowest acceptable range on a service aptitude test.

Neither presidential candidate is talking about leaving Iraq soon. Senator John Kerry put a four-year timetable on it; President Bush says it is irresponsible to set a date. We also have commitments in Afghanistan, of course. And things hardly look stable in other parts of the world. (North Korea and Iran jump to mind.)

The older brother of one of Paul's best friends is serving in Iraq right now. He is near Falluja. Last summer, this soldier's mother told me she was shipping water to his entire unit, because they were thirsty. A while later, her son wrote from Iraq asking for a pair of boots. The Army-issued boots had metal toes, and his feet -- along with everyone else's -- had burns on them, because of the 140-degree heat in the desert. His mother agonized about sending new boots, because she thought the Army had probably issued the metal-toed ones to protect the troops from land mines. In the end, she bought the boots and sent them to him.

In my most recent conversation with her -- a benign exchange about what time she would pick up her younger son from my house -- she mentioned that she had bought her elder boy a better-quality bulletproof vest after learning that his Army-issued one would not stop shrapnel. He had been ambivalent about taking it, because not all the soldiers in his unit had parents who could afford to outfit them similarly. But she had prevailed, and he is wearing the vest.

I pray for this young man's safety every day. But I would be lying if I said I am ready for my own child to make such a sacrifice.

Which brings me back to the allergy test. I suggested to Paul that we skip it, and retain this life-threatening condition on his medical records. It just might come in handy, I told him cryptically.

But Paul is not a baby anymore. He has his own ideas, and one of them is that he wants to know once and for all if a peanut butter and jelly sandwich really threatens his life.

Fair enough. It's just that it's no longer the peanuts I'm worried about.